A/N: No flipping
idea where this came from either. Probably a nice mental break from
the last two days of my life – or was it three? Yeah…that bad.
Hope it provides anyone else a distraction as it has for me!

DEDICATION: You
know, if you tell me these little PWP pieces are like early Christmas
presents, it will encourage me to write more. Grin. So this is
dedicated to those who like those little gifties.

LAST NOTE: If you
are not 18, please go read something else. If you are over 18, let
me know if you enjoyed this – after the cold shower.

What You Need

Night wraps the city in
its dark coat as he trudges home. A light burns softly as he pushed
the door open and slips inside, moving quietly. Too damn late to
wake her. Damn stake-out.

He drops his keys onto
the counter, slides his wallet and gun next to them. The rest of his
clothing tells the tale of his exhaustion, slipping from his body as
he makes his way to her bed. He pauses on his way to the bathroom
and groans in exhausted frustration.

She is sleeping on her
side, her face towards him, the muscles relaxed, soft, in slumber.
Her dark hair tangles and curls over the pillow. The bed sheet
covers her, but not enough to disguise the fact she's wearing very
little, if anything at all. Her bare shoulder and the swell of a
breast tantalize him.

He smothers another
groan as he moves past her to the bathroom, to shower off the stink
of two days in a car and to let the heat and pressure of the water
begin to unknot his rigid muscles. Even as he strips off his t-shirt
and boxers in the bathroom he considers putting it off, returning to
her, stroking, kissing, nipping at her until she wakes up. God, he
loves it when the first thing she knows is his touch making her hot
and wet. She makes these sounds just before she actually wakes up,
soft, mewling sounds as his fingers and lips pleasure her, sounds
that plead and ones that express nothing but bliss at his
ministrations. Blood pools in his groin at the thoughts running
through his head. The slow, steady ache her presence always causes
begins low in his body and his burgeoning erection gives its opinion.
With a sigh, he steps under the shower spray, telling himself she'll
still be there when he's done, when he feels human again.

He jumps only slightly
when her fingernails scrape lightly along his chest, which he has
just rinsed. "You didn't wake me," she pouts from behind him,
her hands flat now against his pecs, pulling him toward her body.

He chuckles softly. "I
was planning to."

She leans up and
nibbles her way from the back of his neck to his ear. "I hope so."

He reaches for the soap
again, intending to give himself another scrubbing, but she takes it
from him and, wordlessly, lathers his whole body. Her fingers are
deft and gentle, but strong and knowing as well. She begins with his
back, washing him and easing the tension in his muscles all at once.
Slowly, as if inventing a new form of torture, she moves down his
back, kneading each muscle group with dexterous care. The ache in
the small of his back diminishes as she works him.

He cannot help the
sharply inhaled breath as her fingers find his ass and she gives it
the same treatment as his back muscles. He groans, a prolonged sound
of relief and arousal, as she works magic with her hands. He tenses
involuntarily when he feels her step closer to him, feels the brush
of her taut nipples brushing against him. His eyes flutter shut.
Anticipation builds in him, in his now straining erection, eagerly
awaiting the warm, confident wrap of her fingers.

She tickles her way
around his abdomen, one finger lightly tracing the scar there. He
catches her hand briefly, squeezing it. They no longer to talk about
it. It's in the past; that and every other thing that conspired
against them that year. Her hands, once free again, travel upward.
She smiles against his back as he whimpers in protest. The protest
is short lived as soon she is pulling, tugging and gentling rolling
his nipples in her fingers, shooting currents of desire through him.
She murmurs for him to give her some shampoo.

She begins to lather
the gel into his hair, her nails running along his scalp, her fingers
almost digging in. Woody groans happily. He had no idea how amazing
that could feel. He reaches behind him for her; he wants to see her,
to kiss her even as she finishes her chosen task, but she moves
easily out of his grasp. "Behave," she tells him, her voice low
and sultry.

"Or what?" He
can't resist asking.

"Or you'll go to
bed alone."

He promises to be a
good boy. A very good boy.

She grins and rinses
the foam from his dark hair. He sighs in relief, her hands trailing
lower again. Still she keeps him on edge, running her palms along
his hair-roughened thighs, crouching down to massage his calves and
hamstrings. Mutely, she nudges him until he turns at last. She
gazes up at him, her eyes dark with lust and love and a wanton
quality he brings out in her more than any man before. No longer are
these games simply that; they have become expressions of love and
devotion. He studies her face, his blue eyes wide and burning in the
steamy air. She backs him against the wall before rising up just
enough to wrap her mouth around him. He cries out at the feel of her
mouth.

It seems to go on
forever. The pressure, the sweep of her tongue, the ever-so-gentle
nibbling, the attendant caresses. He lets out a strangled cry. "Jo…
stop!"

She doesn't listen.

He reaches for her
shoulders and pulls her up, crushing her to him. His mouth is on her
– her collarbone, her neck, her jaw line, up to the shell of her
ear. "Inside you. Want to be… inside you," he tells her
breathlessly before his mouth finds hers and his fingers tangle
themselves in her wet tresses, holding her head captive for his
onslaught of lips and teeth and tongue.

Hardly letting her
catch her breath, he spins her so she is pinned against the wall.
His hands roam easily down her body, provoking ego-pleasing moans and
whimpers. His lips finally leave hers, only to kiss their way down
to one tight, aching nipple. Even as he suckles strongly on her, his
hands are moving lower, stroking her thighs until she shifts her legs
apart. He bites down gently on her breast as he slips a finger
inside her, then another one quickly after, stretching her
deliciously. She is so tight, so wet, so hot he finds it more and
more difficult to focus on giving her as much as she gave him.

"Woody." Her
breath is short, ragged. "I want you inside me. Now."

His hands move to hips
and he hoists her up. She wraps her legs around him and hangs on as
he breaches her body's opening. She cries out in satisfaction as
he fills her. They are a perfect fit; their bodies aware of what it
took their hearts and minds so long to face up to. He is moving in
her, fast and strong, a smooth rhythm. Using the shower wall to bear
some of her weight, he slips one hand between their joined bodies,
his finger seeking the bundle of nerves that he knows is throbbing,
engorged and more than ready for him.

She gasps when he
strokes it, his finger keeping pace with his body's thrusts. The
orgasm builds low in her belly and then claws its way out, engulfing
her body in a ferocious wave of pleasure. She can only cling to him
as she shudders and trembles in his arms. Her final, astonished "Oh,
God. Oh, Woody" sends him over the edge. His mouth closes on the
slope where her neck becomes her shoulder. He cries his own pleasure
into her flesh, his grip on her almost painfully tight.

Slowly, he lets her
down and they slide apart. She turns off the water, just beginning
to turn cool, while he reaches for the towels. He grabs the big,
soft, fluffy one she keeps on the rack and wraps them both in it,
drying her back desultorily. They lean on each other for support,
neither entirely trusting their legs to bear their weight.

Only when their harsh
panting has subsided, does she speak. "Welcome home."

He gives her a broad,
exhausted smile and strokes her hair. "Thanks."

"Rough day?" She
looks up, her amber eyes twinkling.

He nuzzles her ear. "I
don't remember."

She arches an eyebrow.

"If it was, coming
home to you made it all worthwhile."

She gives him a smile
of her own. "Let's go to bed, Farm Boy."

END

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